


Firsts

by myangel_michael



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Anxious Katsuki Yuuri, M/M, POV Victor Nikiforov, Rivalry
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-16
Updated: 2019-07-30
Packaged: 2020-06-29 12:22:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 17,609
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19830121
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/myangel_michael/pseuds/myangel_michael
Summary: Viktor Nikiforov, 5-time gold medalist and one of the most decorated male figure skaters in history, absolutely despises losing.Yuuri Katsuki is a rising child star protegé in the figure skating world.And one cannot deny that Yuuri can absolutely catch up to Viktor if he pleased.This poses as a problem.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! This is my first time writing a fanfiction but I couldn't get enough of Viktor and Yuuri after I finished the anime, so here it is!
> 
> The rivals!AU is my favorite trope of all time so I hope you all enjoy!
> 
> Please don't be shy to tell me what you think!

**PART I: THE FALL**

__ Prologue

For as long as he could remember, Viktor Nikiforov hated losing.

Being a child protegé to one of the most decorated male figure skaters of all time, however, this wasn't much of a problem for Viktor.

In the very few times he had been knocked off his place on the podium, it had felt like a slap in the face. It had never crossed his mind that his competitors did not deserve the medals they got, only that he felt inaqeduate. It felt as that if something was off about his performance, there was something off about him, though he didn't know what---and it was maddening. He felt unpolished, unrefined---he felt unwanted, a feeling he absolutely despised, but was all too familiar with. Still, he managed to plaster a smile on his face, a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes, and pose for the cameras.

Envy and disappointment were bitter, dangerous forces to be reckoned with, Viktor knew, so he kept the feelings deep within the back of his mind, locked it in his safe and threw away the metaphorical key into the sea---hoping that maybe, if he ignored it long enough, it would simply disappear.

And then Yuuri Katsuki came into the picture.

Viktor could only describe him like a tornado---completely unexpected, and if you aren't prepared, absolutely devastating. At the age of 13, he made a stunning debut at his first ever Junior Grand Prix, coming in third and beating out three other seasoned finalists, catching everyone's---including Viktor's (albeit for entirely different reasons)---eye.

When Viktor watched Katsuki's performance online, he couldn't help but feel begrudgingly impressed. The Japanese skater was good for his age---exceptionally flexible and fluid in his movements, with a grace that had taken years for Viktor to acquire, making him wonder if the boy had any formal dance training.

From what Viktor gathered from the very limited online information on Katsuki (honestly, the boy's online presence was abysmal, with only two pictures from a year ago on Instagram), he was known as Japan's ace, the best male figure skater they've had in years. Katsuki was most notorious for his captivating step sequences, though his skill set and jumps could use some improving. He lived in a little town in rural Japan called Hasetsu, known for their hot spring attractions.

Viktor tried to scour for more information but frustratingly, came up short. Several websites say exactly the same thing, making do with what little background information they had, and Katsuki's recent interviews were fruitless for anything juicy or personal, with him giving the press generic, run-of-the-mill answers with a tomato-red face and innocent smile.

Though the mystery of Yuuri Katsuki was never completely solved for Viktor, the way he was raking in medals from the Junior Grand Prix to the Four Continents to the Junior Worlds year after year was unnerving. Katsuki's achievements rivalled Viktor's own Juniors.

In fact, many skating fans could not help but draw parallels to Katsuki's and Viktor's careers (much to Viktor's general dismay), although many agree that Katsuki was still not up to par to Nikiforov, by any means.

But the comparison alone never sat well with Viktor. He had stood at the top for so long without even a challenge, without anyone even coming close to him, but with Katsuki's Senior debut at the Grand Prix looming closer and closer, Viktor could not help but feel unsettled.

For two very different reasons.


	2. Chapter 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alternatively Titled: The First Time Viktor Nikiforov Met Yuuri Katsuki

The first time Viktor Nikiforov met Yuuri Katsuki wasn't all that special when looked at from an outsider's perspective, but to Viktor, it felt monumental.

It was at the banquet of Katsuki's senior debut at the Grand Prix, where he had snagged a bronze, shocking everyone in the stadium with an outstanding and (according to everyone Viktor spoke to) emotional performance of his long program.

Viktor could not watch the program, what with Katsuki performing right after him and Viktor being busy with interviews and the press, but Christophe Giacometti, his good friend and competitor, who had come in fourth, was more than happy to fill him in on the details.

"He didn't even have _quads_. Can you imagine that? That's a bold move for the Finals, and to win with it? That's impressive, even you have to admit that," Chris mused, taking a sip of his champagne, giving him a knowing look.

Viktor gave him a close-lipped smile and shrugged. Chris raised an eyebrow at him and chuckled.

Next to Yakov, Chris was one of the few people who knew who Viktor really was, beyond the medals and the flashy outfits. Though he never admitted it to him, Viktor knew that Chris knew of his strange aversion to losing, or at least had a hunch. And Chris, being himself, loved to test the waters.

"I haven't seen you this tense since you fumbled on your quad flip three years ago. You still won, though," Chris commented, making Viktor flinch.

"I don't know what you mean."

"Are you intimidated by Katsuki?" he deadpanned, making Viktor almost choke on his drink. Almost.

"Excuse me?"

Chris smirked. "Ah, so you are. He's a nice boy, you know. Got to talk to him back at the China Cup. A little shy—but a beast on the ice. I wonder where else he's a beast in."

Viktor blushed, rolling his eyes. "You're impossible."

Chris suddenly caught Viktor's arm and squeezed, his eyes widening, alight with mischief. Viktor did not like that look.

"Ah, speak of the devil."

Viktor followed Chris' gaze and felt himself stiffen at the sight.

Yuuri Katsuki had arrived at the banquet.

For some odd reason, Viktor could not peel his eyes away from the Japanese skater across the room. The boy looked as if he had gone overboard off a ship and that his coach, Celestino, was his lifeboat, clinging onto his sleeve for the dear life, trying to hide behind him. Celestino, obviously proud of his student, kept encouraging Katsuki to talk to the sponsors and mingle with his fellow skaters, pushing him to the center of conversations. And every single time, Katsuki kept his eyes downcast, his cheeks blooming pink with every compliment given to him.

Viktor downed a glass of champagne and kept his gaze trained on Katsuki—and he couldn't ignore the way that Katsuki's gaze wandered to his in-between conversations, and when he saw Viktor looking, he turned away, blushing even harder.

Viktor didn't know what to make of it.

\---

The night progressed for Viktor as a whirlwind of smiling and nodding and thanking sponsors for their support, taking pictures with some other skaters and actively avoiding JJ's attempt at conversation. It all felt quite boring, so Viktor felt a wash of relief when he saw Chris waving him over to talk with a glass in hand. He desperately needed a reprieve from all the business talk, and so without a second thought, he strode confidently to Chris.

That stride of confidence petered away when he saw just who Chris was talking to—a dark haired boy with rosy cheeks, glasses and a shy smile.

Viktor felt the need to take a swig of his drink again. He skidded to a stop, took a big gulp of champagne, straightened his posture and steeled himself for the interaction. He flashed the two the most charming smile he can muster and waved. He could feel Chris watching him approach from the corner of his eye based on the tiny smirk of satisfaction on his face, and Viktor made a mental note to get his revenge on Chris later.

"--and that was the worst one-night stand I've ever had." Chris concluded his story, just as Viktor came to greet them.

"Ah, Viktor! Just in time. Have you two met?" Chris asked, gesturing at Katsuki, whose ears were pink and lips were parted in shock.

"I don't believe we have. Viktor Nikiforov," Viktor said, ignoring the knot of discomfort forming in the pit of his stomach as he smiled at the boy, offering his hand.

"No, we—we haven't. Kat—I mean, I'm Yuuri Katsuki, you can call me Yuuri," he almost whimpered in reply, his face an even deeper shade of red.

(How many shades of red can a face have, Viktor wondered.)

His hand was shaking in Viktor's.

He heard Chris chuckle beside him and shot him a small glare, releasing Katsuki's hand, and Chris gave him a smug smile in return.

"Yuuri here has been telling me that he's a big fan of you, weren't you, Yuuri?" Chris asked, elbowing him, making Yuuri almost spit his drink out. "Just thought I'd make your dreams come true."

Viktor frowned as Katsuki was coughing on his drink. He didn't like the sound of him being a fan, because competitors, he knew how to handle. Just give them a smile, make a few jokes, stay pleasant, then beat them on the ice. Fans? Even easier, give them a wink, a hug, allow a photograph or two and compliment them, and they'll be as happy as they can be. But both? That complicates Viktor's situation (and current emotional state).

Yuuri Katsuki had thrown him off yet again.

Viktor contemplated on how to act. For almost all of his life, he lived in the spotlight. He didn't always enjoy it, but he could never escape it, so he did the next best thing—he learned the ins and outs of it, learned how to give the most charming smile to please screaming crowds, how to keep the press intrigued by giving them just enough information to talk about but not enough to see the whole picture. He knew how to handle the pressure of the world watching his every move, some watching in adoration, some waiting for him to slip. He knew how to handle the fame.

But he had no idea how to handle Yuuri Katsuki. Not a damn clue.

So he did the one thing he knew how. He gave Katsuki a bright smile, and replied, "I'm flattered."

Chris looked at him expectantly, like he was waiting for something more, but Viktor simply turned his attention back to his drink, swirling the clear liquid with his finger, still a small (forced) smile on his face. Chris cleared his throat.

"Well, you've certainly polished that routine since the China Cup. We were all in for a shock—you seemed like you were such a seasoned skater out there."

"Oh, thank you," Katsuki smiled shyly, his cheeks pink again and Viktor found that he was suppressing a smile himself.

There was no denying that Yuuri Katsuki was handsome. His brown eyes were warm and cozy, Viktor noted, soft and inviting, perfect to fall into. His hair was slicked back like it always was in competitions, though a few unruly strands escaped the wax's hold and brushed on his face. And Yuuri's lips, _God, his lips_ , they looked pink and soft and—

 _No_. Viktor snapped himself out of the daze when he realized what he was thinking.

_What the hell was that?_

Viktor had to remind himself that Katsuki was his competitor, someone out to steal his title, his record.

But when Yuuri smiled, and _oh God_ , laughed, any thought Viktor had of being his competitor just flew out the window. Yuuri's laugh made Viktor's chest tighten—in a really good way. Or maybe in a bad way. It was hard for Viktor to tell at that point.

Viktor took note of the fact that Yuuri smiled the most when he was talking about Hasetsu and Japan, his eyes sparkling when he talked about how he learned how to cook because his roommate almost burned their dorm down in an attempt to cook spaghetti, or the time he got locked in the Ice Castle because he forgot to bring his spare keys and Yuuko had already locked up so he had to sleep on one of the benches and used a spare towel as a blanket, or how he was the godfather to comically named triplets: Axel, Lutz and Loop.

So Viktor continued to broach the topic, if only to get another smile out of Yuuri. Some part of his brain was screaming _'What the hell are you doing?!'_ , but Viktor couldn't quite bring himself to care in that moment.

"Maybe we can go to your parents' hot springs during off-season," Chris suggested, pleased at how relaxed Yuuri had become with them.

"Sounds like we need a little vacation," Viktor added, hoping to coax another one of those adorable smiles.

"Oh, you should! You'd love my mom's cooking, especially the katsudon!" Yuuri exclaimed, his eyes bright with excitement.

"What's katsudon?"

"Oh, it's a pork cutlet bowl—it's my favorite dish," Viktor took a mental note of that (he'd been taking lots of mental notes about Yuuri that day, for some reason), "My mom used to cook it for me every time I win at competitions,"

And it took just that one little statement to switch something off inside of Viktor, for that little ball of discomfort (and annoyance) to settle back into the pit of his stomach.

"Ah, so you must eat it often then," Viktor said flatly.

He noticed Chris flinch at the sudden cold tone, shaking his head at Viktor, telling him _not now_ with his eyes. But it was too late, Yuuri had obviously picked up on the tone and started to backtrack frantically, a stuttering mess again.

"I-I... I didn't... didn't mean to brag... I'm sorry—" he muttered, fumbling, not looking Viktor in the eyes. Yuuri was fiddling with his glass and looking around, like he was trying to find a way to escape as inconspicuously as possible. It made Viktor's stomach drop.

 _Damn it_ , _Nikiforov_. Viktor wanted to kick himself. What was he doing? It wasn't Yuuri's fault that he felt like this. And he could control himself better than this, he knew that. So why was he acting like this? Yuuri had done nothing wrong to Viktor—hell, he was doing something right by Viktor just a little while ago.

The awkward silence stretched on for what Viktor thought was eternity, until Chris had enough and tried to steer the conversation back to safer waters.

The damage had been done, though, and Viktor couldn't help but feel awful as he noticed Yuuri's demeanor changing, his relaxed posture tense again, only replying when asked, withdrawing himself yet again.

It made Viktor's chest tighten—in a very different way. ( _This was the bad way_ , he decided.)

They continued chatting (and by they, it meant Chris and Viktor with Yuuri's occasional yes or no's) for a few more minutes about music and routines and all that dull stuff until Viktor heard his name being called from across the room.

Turning around, he saw Yakov waving him over to talk to a man in a suit—another sponsor. Viktor wanted to groan. He'd rather endure the awkward atmosphere (which was entirely his fault, he was well aware) with Yuuri and Chris than talk business again, but the look in Yakov's eye told Viktor that he wouldn't hear the end of it if he didn't go over there right now.

Viktor sighed. "Duty calls," he said, offering a smile.

Yuuri still wasn't looking at him.

That hurt Viktor more than it should have, and more than he cared to admit.

"So soon? We'll miss you," Chris pouted jokingly, but Viktor could read the look on his face loud and clear. _We'll talk later._

Oh, Viktor could definitely use another drink.

He turned to Yuuri, who was still fidgeting with his glass, and gave him a half-smile.

"It was nice meeting you, Yuuri," he said, testing the waters.

Yuuri looked up at him, _finally_ , and Viktor felt like a huge weight was lifted off his shoulders. His eyes were shy, not angry or offended.

"You too, Viktor."

"I'll be seeing you at Worlds, hope to talk to you then," Viktor grinned, winking. He reveled at the blush that painted Yuuri's cheeks, knowing that he was the one who put it there.

And as Viktor turned and started towards Yakov's growling face, he realized that he _did_ hope to see and talk to Yuuri again. He _wanted_ to see and talk to him again. Viktor wanted to see his smile and hear his laugh that made his heart clench, to make him blush and see his eyes sparkle when he talked about home. Viktor wanted to see Yuuri again, but he couldn't ignore the little vault in the back of his mind that was threatening to break open. Viktor wanted to see Yuuri Katsuki again, but not when he's above Viktor on the podium, with a gold medal around his neck.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! This is my very first fanfic I wrote in this fandom and actually posted, and I'd really like to know what y'all think! English isn't my first language but I hope none of this was confusing and I did an okay job, constructive criticism is totally welcome!
> 
> Thanks for reading!


	3. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alternatively titled: The First Time Viktor Nikiforov Saw Yuuri Katsuki Drunk

The first time Viktor Nikiforov saw Yuuri Katsuki drunk will be forever burned into his memory.

Mostly because Chris would never let him forget—but also because the memory resurfaces in the randomest of times, leaving Viktor... inconvenienced.

It was after the Worlds, the first competition that Viktor would see the Japanese skater since the previous Grand Prix.

And Viktor was excited.

He felt a nervous energy buzzing just beneath his skin, making it tingle, as he fiddled with his tie, adjusting and readjusting it, scanning the room for the mop of dark hair and brown eyes that he was looking for.

Viktor had thought a lot about Yuuri Katsuki since the last time they spoke, more often than he'd like to admit to himself. He had, of course, kept himself updated on the boy's endeavors since the meeting, and Viktor was unsurprised to see the Yuuri dominating in almost all of the skating competitions he qualified in.

Except for this one.

Viktor had not been able to watch Yuuri's program because, much to his annoyance, a certain coach of his decided that Yuuri's turn to skate was the best time to give Viktor a strongly-worded lecture about overexerting himself. Viktor did not pick up a single word of it, but he could feel his disappointment of missing the performance settling in his chest. He wanted to watch Yuuri skate, because videos online never gave anyone's routines much justice.

So it had been quite a surprise to hear that Yuuri had fallen to fourth place in the Worlds—and Viktor felt guilty that he had felt a small rush of relief over the news because it meant that Yuuri wasn't close to beating him—not yet.

Because that could mean some complications for their relationship, and as much as Viktor didn't want to admit it, he wanted there to be _something_ with Yuuri, though he wasn't sure what.

Viktor gave the room another once-over and started tapping his fingers on the drink table, impatience written all over his face.

"Oh, calm yourself, lover boy," Chris said, striding over to Viktor's side, silver medal glinting on his chest.

Viktor raised an eyebrow at him and Chris shrugged.

"Quiet, you, the old man wanted me to wear it," Chris laughed, taking a swig from his drink.

Viktor remained quiet and went back to scanning the room, the champagne glass in his hand forgotten. He saw Yuri Plisetsky arguing with Yakov over something next to some uncomfortable-looking man in a suit and suppressed a grin. Yuri had won gold at the Juniors, no surprise there, and so Yakov forced him to mingle among sponsors. Viktor knew Yuri would not make that endeavor easy for Yakov, judging from the veins bulging from Yakov's neck. Honestly, the poor man's blood pressure must be through the roof at this point.

He took note of Emil Nekola arguing with Michele Crispino, whose sister was busy giggling with Mila in one corner, oblivious to the two idiots behind them.

He watched JJ and Seung-gil, an unlikely pair, talking by the banquet table, though Seung-gil practically had a "help me" sign plastered on his forehead.

But no dark-haired shy (and adorable) Japanese boy was to be found.

He glanced at his watch.

"Shouldn't he be here by now?"

Chris' smile faded a bit and Viktor could see concern behind his eyes. "I don't know, he might not be going,"

Viktor's stomach clenched in disappointment.

"Why not?"

"Well," Chris said thoughtfully, "he... wasn't at his best today, if his performance was anything to judge by. He could have definitely done better but—he seemed pre-occupied."

The words struck Viktor with a pang of worry for Yuuri—from the brief time that they talked, it was easy to tell that Yuuri was the type to take his mistakes to heart.

"Fourth place isn't that bad," Viktor muttered to himself, making Chris scoff.

"You're one to talk, Viktor 'I-should-always-win-gold' Nikiforov."

"Hey—" Viktor started to protest but Chris cut him off with a wave of his hand.

"All I'm saying is that you shouldn't expect him tonight, because judging from his face earlier, he's in no state to mingle."

Viktor pursed his lips and sighed in disappointment. Seeing Yuuri was the only thing that he looked forward to, and now he had hours upon hours of suffering through business talk on his hands.

\----

Chris had been right, Yuuri was definitely in no state to mingle.

Viktor watched from the corner of his eye as the Japanese boy slowly made his way to the corner of the room and took a big gulp from his champagne glass, his eyes watching the room from afar. Viktor felt a stab of pity for Yuuri, who looked absolutely miserable as he took another glass of champagne from the waiter and finished it one gulp.

Viktor wanted to go to him, but why should we? Yuuri just might think it strange, and the last thing that Viktor wanted was for Yuuri to be put off him.

Which begged the question.

_Was Yuuri even single?_

The question hit Viktor like a punch in the gut. He had never considered before that Yuuri was anything but—had he gotten ahead of himself?

Surely if Yuuri had a significant other, he would know about it by now, wouldn't he? It would've been all over the press by now. Wouldn't his significant other go to support Yuuri at competitions if he had one?

But then again, Yuuri had always been private, if his social media and press answers were anything to go by. But would he really hide it if he was in a relationship? It wouldn't have been a big deal otherwise, even Leroy had been flaunting his fianceé for months now. But Yuuri was nothing like him, was he?

Even the possibility of Yuuri having someone made Viktor's chest feel hollow.

"Oi, shithead, pay attention!" Yuri Plisetsky yelled, snapping his fingers in Viktor's face. He realized that he'd been staring into space. Yuri, oblivious to Viktor's inner turmoil, simply rolled his eyes.

"Will you stop staring at that Japanese bastard and get your shit together? Yakov said he wants us to _socialize_ ," he said, spitting the word out like it was something poisonous.

Viktor gave him a cross look and cocked a brow.

"Since when did you care about talking to sponsors?"

"I don't, but watching you sit and mope here, pining for that loser when you're the goddamn champion is getting really pathetic," Yuri shot back, crossing his arms and turning his attention to the lone boy in the corner.

Viktor followed his gaze and was startled at the number of empty champagne glasses (23, if Viktor counted correctly) that surrounded Yuuri and just how _flushed_ his face looked.

Oh dear.

Yuuri looked hammered.

"Drunk asshole," Viktor heard Yuri mutter under his breath.

As if sensing their gazes, Yuuri suddenly met Viktor's eyes and his face immediately lit up, a lopsided grin on his face, his cheeks a deep shade of red. And he started staggering toward the two with an entire champagne bottle in his hand, about to turn Viktor and everyone else's night upside down.

Not quite the kind of turn Viktor was expecting for the night.

\----

"C'mon, Yurio, let's have a dance-off!" Yuuri proclaimed, giggling at himself.

Yuuri was more than hammered, Viktor decided. He was absolutely shit-faced.

"Get away from me, you asshole! And don't fucking call me that!" Yuri practically screamed, swatting away Yuuri's arms as he tried to drag him to the dance floor.

Yuuri pouted. Then his face lit up like he had the greatest idea ever.

(Viktor was enamored by that drunk smile. It felt like real, unhindered glee that seeped straight into Viktor's chest, making him grin as well.)

"Are you a chicken, Yurio?"

That certainly got Yuri's attention.

Yuri turned to Yuuri with absolute murder in his eyes, and grabbed him by the collar.

"What'd you call me, you bastard?" Yuri growled.

Several people turned to their attention. Viktor spotted Chris mid-drink with a confused look on his face. Viktor shrugged.

Drunk Yuuri didn't seem flustered by the attention and just giggled and got in Yuri's face.

"A chicken, Yurio,"

"Stop fucking calling me that!"

"But it's soooo confusing! That's my name, too!" Yuuri slurred, grabbing onto Yuri's shoulders. Yuri looked ready to maul him, but Yuuri simply gave him a dopey smile (that made Viktor want to take him, stuff him in his suitcase and bring him to St. Petersburg).

"Yurio, huh?" Viktor said quietly, chuckling. He crossed his arms and watched the show, more entertained than he was a good ten minutes ago.

"So will you dance with me, Yurio? C'mon, chicken!" Yuuri smirked, gesturing Yurio to the dance floor.

"I'LL SHOW YOU FUCKING CHICKEN, YOU BASTARD!" Yurio screamed, stomping to the center of the room.

"Cue the music!" Yuuri announced.

Viktor laughed as a hip-hop beat started to play.

\----

Yuuri was... an extremely talented dancer.

Viktor knew to some extent that Yuuri had some form of dance training, possibly ballet, but he did _not_ know that he was on primo ballerina level.

Viktor didn't think that there was a person who was _that_ flexible.

After the break-dance-off with Yurio, Yurio was sweating and panting like a dog, while Yuuri still had a bright smile on his face, almost unfazed besides the beads of sweat on his forehead. His stamina was almost unreal.

At some point in the dance-off, the two top buttons of Yuuri's dress shirt had come undone, giving Viktor a full view of Yuuri's toned chest.

(Viktor didn't mind at all. Not even a tiny bit.)

"That was fun! Thanks, Yurio!" he said, pulling Yurio into a tight hug while the other tried to shove him away, screaming profanities.

Yuuri met Viktor's gaze and broke into an even wider grin, let go of Yurio, and started walking toward Viktor with a mischievous look in his eye.

Viktor felt a shock of electricity run through his spine as Yuuri held out his hand, gave what was, to Viktor, a seductive smile, and winked. "Care to dance?"

It wasn't a hard decision.

\----

Yuuri was... something else.

That was all Viktor could really think of as he felt Yuuri pressed against his chest as they swayed on the dance floor. So many different dance steps, even going so far as to imitating a bullfight. He humored anything that Yuuri did. Viktor had never had this much fun in ages.

Yuuri took the lead, flinging Viktor an arms length away, twirling him and pressing into his back.

Yuuri's warm breath on Viktor's neck made Viktor tingle all over as Yuuri grabbed his hips, took him into his arms, and dipped, his hand resting gently on Viktor's face.

Viktor stared at those brown eyes, those beautiful warm eyes and that blush, that damned blush, and felt his heart start pounding dangerously in his chest as Yuuri stared back, leaning in so very close that Viktor could smell the champagne off his breath...

Then he hiccuped.

Viktor burst out laughing, touching Yuuri's hand on his face, and watched as Yuuri blushed, then giggled as well.

\---

Viktor didn't know how the pole got there in the first place.

Again, he wasn't going to complain, because dancing on that pole, was a topless Yuuri. A very drunk, very confident, very flexible, very _sensual_ topless Yuuri, with Chris running to join in on the fun.

Yuuri twirled around the pole, latching his legs on to the metal and arched his back, and Viktor thanked every single god he could think of for inventing back muscles.

Before he knew it, Chris had joined Yuuri on the pole, naked save for his very tight underpants. Viktor sat back and watched in amazement as the two displayed some of the most vulgar things ever put to dance on the pole, unfazed by the people gawking at them, Yuuri slowly losing his clothing piece-by-piece.

(Viktor had Chris to thank for that, and he contemplated buying him a 5-day luxury cruise for that service alone.)

Viktor had picked the wrong time to drink, because in the exact same moment, Yuuri had blown him a kiss, and Viktor choked on his wine.

\----

Yuuri touching Viktor's hands was enough to send him reeling.

So Yuuri attacking Viktor with a hug, arms clasped firmly on his sides with his hips firmly pressed in his, grinding them slowly, was enough for Viktor to short-circuit completely.

He could only stare and blush as Yuuri hiccuped and giggled into his chest, his heart racing, his head feeling slightly light-headed... and his pants feeling a bit tighter.

"Viktooooor, my family runs a hot spring in Hasetsu! You promised you'd visit, didn't you?" Yuuri asked, his words running together, a stupidly big smile on his face that was very close to making Viktor faint.

"Uh—" was all that he could managed before Yuuri proclaimed, "YOU SHOULD BE MY COACH, VIKTOR! BE MY COACH!"

Viktor almost said yes immediately, wanting to make Yuuri smile again, drunk as he was, but caught himself.

"I—er—" Viktor gasped as he felt Yuuri clutch him tighter, their hips now touching completely.

"Please?" Yuuri asked, pouting.

(That pout alone was almost enough for Viktor to fold. Almost.)

(If Yuuri continued to move the way that he did, though, Viktor would have little choice but to say yes.)

Viktor sighed. "I can't, I have to compete against you, remember?" he replied, patting Yuuri on the head. Strands fell into Yuuri's face and Viktor couldn't resist brushing them off. Yuuri's gaze softened, caught his hand and kissed it.

 _Fuck_.

 _("Viktor.exe_ has stopped working," Viktor heard Yurio murmur to himself, growling, and he could not have been more right.)

"Okay! Do your best, Viktor! I'll do mine as well!" Yuuri grinned.

Viktor grinned back fondly, and decided that for tonight, Yuuri wasn't a skating protegé out for his title. Tonight, Yuuri was something so much more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! This was a bit of a light and fun chapter to establish Viktor and Yuuri's relationship, and I had so much fun writing it. I already have this story mapped out and everything, so expect quick updates (I hope I finish it by the end of July, though I can't be sure because school is kicking my ass), possibly two new chapters up this weekend.
> 
> Like I said, my first language isn't English so I hope it isn't too confusing! Constructive criticism is very welcome! I hope you enjoyed reading!
> 
> Lots of love,  
> R


	4. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alternatively Titled: The First Time Viktor Nikiforov Saw Yuuri Katsuki Skate Live

The first time Viktor Nikiforov watched Yuuri Katsuki skate live was at the short program of the Rostelecom Cup at his final leg before advancing to the Grand Prix Final.

Yakov had screamed Viktor's ear off for overexerting himself yet again, and despite Viktor's protests that the Winter Olympics was coming fast and that he was going at a reasonable pace, it fell on deaf ears and Yakov practically kicked him out of the skating rink and told him to take a day off.

Viktor decided that watching the Cup would be a good use of his time to scout out the competition for the next Grand Prix.

Certainly not because a certain Japanese skater was assigned to perform that very same day and Viktor had ached for another encounter with him.

Certainly not because Viktor had blocked out the dates of the Rostelecom Cup as soon as the assignments were announced and got himself kicked out on purpose.

Certainly not because simply the thought of seeing Yuuri, even from afar, made Viktor feel light and giddy.

Purely for strategical purposes.

(Viktor decided he was a terrible liar, even to himself.)

Anticipation made Viktor's toes curl and his stomach flutter as he made his way into the stadium, hearing the crowds buzzing with life and excitement. Viktor had arrived just as the first group of skaters were practicing on the ice. He made his way to the front, (being stopped by several fans along the way, asking for pictures, which he gladly posed for) and scanned the skaters.

No Yuuri Katsuki can be found.

Viktor thought he must be in the second group, then.

Then Viktor had a brilliant idea.

(Brilliant probably wasn't the word for it. Impulsive? Reckless? Albeit a bit stupid in hindsight? Possibly.)

Viktor stood up and walked to the edge of the rink and to the back room and reception area. He was almost stopped by security but he simply gave them a few seconds until recognition dawned on their faces and they let him pass through no problems.

The perks of being a living legend in figure skating and a household name and face in Russia was that people never questioned you. They simply let you do what you want. Which was a bit off-putting in some situations, but Viktor wanted to use it to his advantage.

In some small part of Viktor's mind, he wondered whether or not this surprise visit would be detrimental to Yuuri's performance, seeing as he was easily flustered and distracted, but then his thoughts wandered to simply Yuuri, his eyes, his lips, that blush—which led to another train of thought that involved a pole and—Viktor shook his head, ignoring the shiver that ran down his spine.

He spotted some familiar faces—Lee Seung-Gil was doing some stretches by the wall, Michele Crispino was being held back by his sister as he attempted to clobber Emil Nekola. JJ was out being... well, JJ, talking to his swooning fangirls. 

(How exactly did those girls get in there?)

Finally, Viktor's eyes landed on a familiar face.

(His heart clenched at the sight, making his chest flutter.)

There he was.

Yuuri Katsuki was sitting cross-legged on the floor, leaning leisurely against the wall, earphones in and eyes closed, with a relaxed expression on his face. Viktor approached him, and couldn't help but smile as he noticed Yuuri's humming a tune, his fingers tapping to an unheard rhythm.

Perhaps he was listening to his short program music? Viktor couldn't tell, and he hesitated disturbing Yuuri, his steps skidding to a stop. He looked so peaceful, his form so relaxed that even the thought of disturbing him seemed like a grave sin to Viktor.

(Beautiful. Yuuri looked absolutely beautiful when he was unguarded.)

Much to Viktor's surprise though, Yuuri suddenly opened his eyes and took off the buds, his gaze immediately landing on a flustered Viktor Nikiforov standing 2 feet in front of him, gaping at him like a fish out of water.

Yuuri startled.

"Viktor? What are you doing here?" he asked, scrambling to his feet, his cheeks flushed with color.

Viktor would have taken some satisfaction in making Yuuri blush and flustered like this if he weren't feeling the exact same thing. His heart was pounding and he felt blood rushing in his ears as he tried and failed to give a good response.

What _was_ he doing here?

He couldn't say that he was scoping out the competition—which _was_ his reason, (is it really, though, Viktor asked himself) it was just poor taste. Nor could he just say that he just wanted to see Yuuri, because that was creepy, wasn't it? That was strange and uncomfortable and Yuuri would definitely be put off—

"Viktor?" Yuuri asked hesitantly, disrupting his spiraling inner monologue, touching Viktor's arm sending shocks of electricity that went straight to his chest, making his heartbeat erratic. A blush was still painted on cheeks, and his hair was getting longer with stray strands falling in his eyes, pink lips slightly parted—

 _Fuck_ , _fuck, fuck_. He hasn't answered yet. He's a damn mess.

"I—" Viktor's came out high and reedy, making him blush. He cleared his throat and tried again. "I just wanted to watch, is all."

He wanted to smack himself. Charming Viktor Nikiforov couldn't come up with a better answer than that? What a waste. His eyes fell on Yuuri's hand still on his arm. Yuuri's eyes followed and he realized, pulling his arm away quickly, blushing.

"Sorry," he murmured, his hands now fidgeting.

Yuuri must've misinterpreted Viktor's reaction, and it took every ounce of self-control in Viktor's body not to scream _'No, it's okay, put it back!'_ and choked out a simple "It's fine."

Yuuri stepped back, and Viktor wanted to flinch at the distance. He felt Yuuri's gaze heavy on him, analyzing and calculating the situation and what the best move was for the situation.

Some twisted part of Viktor acknowledged how Yuuri could be a dangerous enemy to make based on that fact alone, but Viktor ignored it.

"Well, you caught me at the right moment, I just finished my stretches. Did you need anything?" Yuuri asked softly, trying for a smile, but his eyes showed that he was a bundle of nerves.

"Ah, nothing, really. I just wondered what you were listening to, is all."

Yuuri grinned and tapped something on his phone, then held it out to show Viktor the screen.

He was showing him the music player app, a song called "On Love: Eros" was displayed on the _now playing_ screen, paused.

It took a few moments for the words to sink in Viktor's brain. On Love: Eros. _Eros_.

"Sexual love?" he blurted out, then slapped his mouth closed, hoping he didn't draw anyone else's attention.

Yuuri laughed, (God, will Viktor ever get tired of that sound?) and nodded.

"You got it."

Viktor didn't know how to respond, because _of course_ , his brain started to go back to the banquet months ago and he couldn't help but see Yuuri dancing on a pole, the memory so vivid that he could almost smell the champagne and sweat.

Yuuri grinned sheepishly, possibly misunderstanding Viktor's dumbfounded expression. He rubbed the back of his neck.

"Yeah, I don't think it's very me, either. Phichit and Celestino told me to be more adventurous with my programs, though, and I always liked a good challenge." Yuuri explained, and Viktor, who knew that the interaction was already a disaster and just had to make do with it, nodded.

"I still can't figure out how to be _eros_ , though. At the press conference, I messed up and fumbled for an answer... I ended up saying that Katsudon was my inspiration for Eros. Phichit never let me live it down."

Viktor was reeling. _No, Yuuri,_ Viktor wanted to say, _your eros isn't katsudon. Your eros is 23 glasses of champagne and a pole._ But he thought against it. Yuuri had not brought it up, and Viktor did not want to ruin the mood any more than he already did. So Viktor laughed and crossed his arms, attempting to look nonchalant. "That must be some katsudon, then."

"Do you wanna listen to it?" Yuuri asked, offering him an earbud.

Viktor smiled, a wash of relief filling him. "Sure."

They sat on the floor together, Viktor putting one bud in his ear and Yuuri putting the other in.

As Viktor watched Yuuri tap on his phone, he realized just how close the two of them were, with shoulders only barely brushing. He watched Yuuri started chewing on his lips, his brows furrowing in concentration as he waited for the song to load on the player.

(Viktor decided that he could, in fact, sit here all day watching Yuuri chew on his lips.)

He shuffled a bit closer to Yuuri, and Yuuri turned back to him, surprised, but any worry that Viktor had of making him uncomfortable was melted away when Yuuri gave him a small smile and moved a little closer to him as well, their shoulders and arms now fully touching, Viktor's arms tingling from the warmth of the contact.

The music started playing, strings echoing from the earbud, and then a violin joined in as well.

The music was fast-paced and energetic, perfect for a short program and to capture the crowd's attention. Viktor couldn't ignore the sensual undertones in the music, which he wondered how Yuuri would dance to, (sober, at least).

"The playboy visits a town and charms everyone in it," Yuuri murmurs, catching Viktor's eye. Viktor grinned, catching his drift. He could see a story forming from the music.

The music dips, a bit calmer but now the undertones of seduction were blatant, the focus more on the violin. Viktor could see more fluid step sequences in his head, and suppressed a smile. Yuuri would do wonders with this music.

"The playboy meets the most beautiful woman in town, and tries to catch her affections, but the woman isn't swayed," Yuuri continues, now closing his eyes, his head leaned against the wall. Viktor watched Yuuri, his head almost touching Viktor's shoulder. Viktor's heart raced, as he watched the distance get smaller and smaller.

The music continues with the violin and strings rising and falling, the pace slowly picking up again.

"The playboy chases the woman, trying again and again, until he finally gets her," Yuuri smiles a little, his eyes still closed, and Viktor feels extremely light-headed. He wonders whether or not he was hit by a car on the way to the stadium and that he died, and that this was his heaven. He must've done something good with his life if he got something like this.

The music picks up, getting faster and faster, more and more intense—this was the climax of the story, where the playboy gets the woman—and then it all comes crashing down in a stunning crescendo of strings and violin and percussion.

"The playboy finally gets what he wanted, tosses the woman aside, and moves on to the next town," Yuuri concludes, just as the music comes to a stop. He opens his eyes and meets Viktor's, a look of anticipation on his face.

Viktor removes the bud from his ear, feeling a little breathless and light-headed. He righted himself, sitting up a little straighter, removing his arm reluctantly from Yuuri's (his entire being screaming at the loss of contact) and said,

"That was intense."

Yuuri grinned and stood up, offering Viktor a hand.

He gladly took it.

"I was hoping to surprise people with it, but being the playboy isn't really me, is it?"

Viktor raised an eyebrow at him, unbelieving. Yuuri matched his expression, though he couldn't control the smile on his face.

"Give me your playboy expression, then," Viktor challenged.

Yuuri made a face, scrunching his eyebrows and pouted his lips, and Viktor snorted.

"That's the best you got?" Viktor asked, trying to hide his amusement.

Yuuri looked indignant. "Well, excuse me, Viktor I-can-charm-everyone's-pants-off-with-a-smile Nikiforov, but not everyone oozes sensuality like you do!"

Yuuri clapped a hand over his mouth, blushing furiously when he realized what he said. Viktor almost choked on his own spit.

"You think I ooze sensuality, Yuuri?" Viktor asked, chuckling, basking in the compliment.

Yuuri thinks he's charming. Sober Yuuri likes him, to some degree. Viktor couldn't help but feel giddy.

Yuuri frantically shook his head, embarrassed, hiding his face.

"You don't have to be embarrassed, Yuuri, I take it as a compliment," Viktor said, nudging Yuuri's shoulders.

Yuuri removed his hands from his face, which was still tomato-red, and crossed his arms.

"Who knew my skating idol was so insufferable, I'm gonna have to take my posters down." Yuuri muttered, mostly to himself.

Viktor felt absolutely gleeful.

"You have posters of me?!"

Yuuri looked like he wanted the ground to swallow him whole, which was incredibly endearing to Viktor.

"Chris told me you were a fan of mine, but I didn't know it was to that extent!" Viktor laughed, and Yuuri rolled his eyes.

"Don't let it get to your head."

And as he was giggling at Yuuri's embarrassment, Viktor had a compulsion to say something.

(Something incredibly stupid. Something that he shouldn't risk with Yuuri now finally acting like he's a close friend rather than a god on a pedestal, unreachable, and could potentially put them back to square one. Something that he would probably regret right after he said it.)

"Tell you what, Yuuri," Viktor said, his voice low, a smirk on his face. Yuuri snapped to attention.

"How about a little change in perspective for you? After all, you do think that I ooze sensuality—"

"Please shut up—"

"How do you think about seducing me?"

Yuuri gaped at him, and Viktor tried his best to keep his tone cool and consistent, hoping that this wasn't a bad idea.

"Excuse me?" Yuuri asked, his voice quivering a little.

"Since you think that I'm that charming and I'd be unfazed, it would be a nice challenge for you to try and seduce me, you know? I could be that woman in the story," Viktor explained.

Yuuri's blush was finally going down and was now staring at Viktor with an analytical look. It was fascinating, how Yuuri could switch from adorable to elegantly handsome to intelligent and attractive, and Viktor thought it wasn't fair. Yuuri was assessing the situation, the pros and cons and how it could benefit his performance.

"It would be easier to seduce only one person than an entire audience, though I'm sure you can manage that."

"I see," Yuuri muttered, a look of contemplation on his face.

"Though I assure you, it won't be easy, I have quite high standards."

 _Lie, lie, lie, the biggest lie of them all._ Because anything that Yuuri does was enough for Viktor to be seduced thoroughly. But Yuuri doesn't know that.

Yuuri looked up, stared at Viktor with the hint of a challenge glinting in his brown eyes.

"I'll do it," he said, his voice determined.

A voice called Yuuri's name from behind, and Yuuri waved. It was Celestino, telling Yuuri to get his costume on. He noticed Viktor standing there and his face morphed into a look of confusion. Viktor simply grinned and waved. Yuuri started walking away, then stopped.

"Viktor," he muttered, grabbing Viktor's arm with a newfound confidence, urging him to look him in the eye.

"Don't take your eyes off me." Yuuri said, smirking. He released Viktor's arm, leaving Viktor reeling from the touch, absolutely dumbfounded.

\----

Yuuri Katsuki, Viktor decided, would be the death of him.

He sits rinkside after a couple of fans offered him their seats, watching as JJ finished his bombastic short program of his own anthem. Viktor rolled his eyes at the ridiculousness as JJ did his signature hand sign and skated off the eyes to the Kiss and Cry. His girlfriend practically jumped him and Viktor had to hold back a scoff as JJ's score was announced.

101.82. JJ was in first.

Viktor grinned. Yuuri was the last skater, and Viktor knew that he was perfectly capable of beating JJ's score.

His eyes travelled to the side of the rink, and Viktor saw Yuuri standing with his skates on, hair slicked back, jacket still covering his costume. Yuuri caught Viktor's eyes and gave him a wink, removing the jacket to reveal an all-black, tight fit body suit with a fishnet slit and crystals adorning the side of Yuuri's chest, a fluttery skirt-like fabric attached to the side of his hip. The sight of it knocked the breath right out of Viktor, sending his thoughts right back to the night of the banquet, heat flushing through his face.

Yuuri was definitely here to win.

But more than that, Yuuri was, without a doubt, ready to seduce Viktor.

He removed his glasses and stepped onto the ice, his arms spread as he greeted the audience, gliding across the smooth surface.

Viktor caught Yuuri's eye as he got into position, hips jutted out, eyes closed.

The music starts, soft strings echoing throughout the stadium. Yuuri's arms moving fluidly down his body and over his head, letting the music consume him. He snapped to attention, and gave the crowd (and Viktor, meeting his eyes) a smouldering smirk and blew him a kiss.

The women around Viktor went wild, while Viktor could only stare at Yuuri, blood ringing in his ears as he watched Yuuri glide across the ice.

Yuuri won the challenge in exactly three seconds.

\----

Yuuri was a force of nature.

Viktor could not peel his eyes off of him as Yuuri glided on the ice, his hips swaying to the tune, his arms fluttering. He launched himself into a triple axel, landing it beautifully.

A combination spin. A twirl. A swing of the hips.

A quad salchow. Yuuri nails it.

Viktor was entranced by Yuuri's movements, so fluid and so sure of himself. His step sequence was intense, but Yuuri did it with such ease that Viktor couldn't help but be impressed.

At some point in the dance, Yuuri touching his hips and twirling, Viktor came to a realization that Yuuri was not playing the playboy. He couldn't help but grin as Yuuri threw his head back and thrusted his hands out for a clap, that Yuuri's movements were too soft for a charming macho playboy—Yuuri was playing the most beautiful and enchanting woman in the town, seducing every man in town with a lick of her lips and a sway of her hips. And he wore the part well. And Viktor, he realized, was a poor fellow who fell for her charms, leaving him with only a trail of brokens at her tow.

The story was coming to an end, Yuuri's dancing becoming more and more sensual.

(Viktor felt close to fainting at that.)

A quad toe loop, triple toe loop combination. Perfect.

Yuuri launches into a combination spin and this is the part Viktor recognizes, sending a blush to his cheeks. Yuuri breaks out of the spins, thrusts his hands out like he was pushing someone away, and hugs himself as his final position.

Viktor's breath felt shallow, and he barely noticed himself standing up and walking to the Kiss and Cry, where Celestino and another skater were waiting to greet Yuuri. Viktor leaned against a wall and watched as Yuuri skated to them, a huge smile on his face. Celestino gave Yuuri a pat on the head and the other skater hugged him tightly, making Yuuri laugh out loud.

They headed to the booth where Yuuri's score was announced.

114.72.

Yuuri was in first.

The other skater, which Viktor now recognized as Phichit Chulanont, another competitor at the Cup, screamed in delight and pulled Yuuri and Celestino in for another hug.

Yuuri smiled proudly, giggling at Celestino's discomfort and Phichit's over-enthusiasm. As they exited the booth, Phichit saw Viktor standing to the side, leaning against the wall. He nudged Yuuri and cupped his hand to his ear, whispering something that made Yuuri blush, smacking his friend's arm.

Viktor felt a twinge of irritation at the Thai skater.

Yuuri finally turned his attention to him, his smile so bright it can light an entire village for a year. Viktor almost melted at the sight.

"So, did I manage to seduce the most handsome man in the village?" Yuuri asked, crossing his arms smugly.

Viktor noted that he was right—Yuuri was the woman—and nodded.

"Consider me seduced, Mr. Katsudon."

Yuuri rolled his eyes, a playful grin on his lips. "Oh, shut up."

They exchanged quips for a few more minutes before Yuuri was inevitably pulled away by Celestino to talk to the press. Viktor smiled and waved as Yuuri walked away.

"See you at the Olympics, Viktor!" Yuuri called, smiling.

\---

That night, Viktor couldn't sleep, tossing and turning in his bed. He sighed and resigned himself to an all-nighter, pulling Makkachin onto his lap and took a long pause to think about his situation, to contemplate on his next move.

He was attracted to Yuuri Katsuki. By an unhealthy amount. He couldn't deny that anymore.

The shy smile of his and his bursts of confidence, those damned lips that looked so very soft...

Viktor shook his head and tried to think of the situation objectively.

And as Viktor recalls Yuuri's skating, impeccable, polished, a knot of unease blooms at the pit of Viktor's stomach. He was a world-class skater. He was up to par with Viktor now. Yuuri Katsuki was at home on the ice, lived and breathed in it, just as Viktor is. The unease slowly creeps into his chest, then to his head, and soon his temples are pounding.

Viktor decides that Yuuri Katsuki is a threat to him. A very big, dangerous threat. Not only to his heart—but to the career he painstakingly built.

And he has to do something about it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And there we have it! 
> 
> The next two chapters feature a bit of angst as Yuuri finally does what Viktor has been dreading. Yuuri beats Viktor. Spoiler! 
> 
> We get to learn a little more about Viktor's past in the next chapter and we get to see just how he handles it when Yuuri beats him.
> 
> On an unrelated note, I'm so happy with how this chapter was written! I'm still not that confident with my English but I hope that it's still easy to follow and that you're enjoying reading. School's been really getting me down lately and this story has been my stress relief!
> 
> Stay tuned for the next update! I'd love to hear what you think about this story, please comment any thoughts or opinions you might have if you want, constructive criticism is always more than welcome! Stay happy, folks!
> 
> Lots of love,  
> -R


	5. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alternatively Titled: The First Time Viktor Nikiforov Was Beaten By Yuuri Katsuki

Viktor trained harder than he had ever before for the Winter Olympics.

He woke up at the crack of dawn and went home at the brink of twilight, his body aching, every muscle screaming for relief. But Viktor recalls every single memory of Yuuri he has, the look of concentration and determination he has whenever he takes on a challenge, the switch that flips when he's on and off the ice and Viktor was spurred on.

Viktor had clawed his way to the top, and he wasn't about to be knocked off without a fight.

He started refining his skating, his technique. An " _okay_ " landing for his quad flip was not enough. He spent hours on end nailing his quad toe loop even after Yakov had said that it was already polished. Just polished was not enough, not enough to stay on top. Viktor had let his guard down, and it had costed him greatly.

The change in Viktor caused murmurs among his team, though no one dared to bring it up, other than, of course, Yurio.

"You're going to break your back if you don't take a break, old man," he called, leaning by the edge of the rink, sweat lining his blond hair.

Viktor gritted his teeth and flew into a triple axel.

 _Shit_. He over-rotated and touched the ice, trying to balance himself. His leg muscles were screaming for a break, and Viktor knew it would only be worse from here. Still, he tried to launch himself into his signature move, the quad flip, and stepped out of his form, sending him sprawling on the ice.

"Goddamnit," he muttered, his voice strangled, a lump of frustration forming in his throat. He covered his eyes and wanted to just lie there until the cold ice biting into his shirt was unbearable.

Why was he so out-of-his-element? He landed these jumps flawlessly before, but now he was flubbing each and every one of them.

He couldn't help but wonder if Yuuri had planned this all along. If he had charmed Viktor for the sake of distracting him, to make him lose his edge so that he could take over as a champion.

Viktor shook his head at the thought, feeling dirty. Yuuri would never. It felt like a grave offense to Yuuri for Viktor even thinking that. Yuuri loved the ice, he found comfort in it, anyone with working eyes could see that. He poured every bit of passion he had in his skating, and Viktor couldn't deny that Yuuri had worked just as hard as he did to get where he was. Yuuri was talented, determined and intelligent. A dangerous combination.

Viktor resented the racing beat of his heart whenever the thought of Yuuri echoed in his mind, those damned lips mocking and haunting him.

He heard the scratch of skates on ice as Yurio approached him, smirking, and knelt down beside him.

"You're gonna die of pneumonia if you keep this up, dumbass,"

"Language, Yurio," Viktor chided weakly, not wanting to move.

"Stop fucking calling me that." Yurio replied, growling, and pulled Viktor to his feet. Viktor said nothing and skated back to the rinkside, Yurio in the tow.

"What's your fucking deal, old man? You've been like this since the China Cup," Yurio asked, his face glowering, but his eyes were shining with concern. Viktor was touched—Yurio definitely cared about him, underneath the layers of... well, Yurio.

"It's nothing, don't worry about it," Viktor said, taking a drink from his water jug, hoping his voice wasn't as stiff as he was feeling.

"Don't tell me _it's nothing_ , shithead, you're about to give Yakov a stroke at the pace you're going."

"The Olympics is two weeks away. If anything, I'm going too slow."

Yurio yanked his arm, hard, making Viktor face him.

"Is this about that fucking pig?"

A burst of anger spurted in Viktor's chest at the nickname, but he tried to stifle it down. Of course, Viktor reminded himself, to Yurio, Yuuri was nothing but a drunk who had forcibly dragged him to a dance off and humiliated him, but to Viktor, Yuuri was something more.

"He has a name, and it's not about him," Viktor said through his teeth, yanking his arm back from Yurio.

"I don't know what that idiot said to you or did, but it's not worth breaking something in your body over,"

"He didn't do anything wrong."

"Uh-huh, sure, and I'm going to be the world's best pole dancer," Yurio retorted.

 _Keep your temper in check_.

"Is it that hard to believe that I just want to step up my game?"

"No, but your reason for it is. Admit it, old man. You're threatened of that pig." Yurio said, crossing his arms.

Viktor only barely managed to not spit out the water in his mouth, and Yurio gave him a smug smirk.

"I knew it."

"That's—the furthest—thing from the—truth," Viktor said, between coughs, which he didn't think was very convincing. His vision was swimming, and he silently cursed his inability at discretion. He wanted to curse Yuuri for making him this way, but he couldn't bring himself to.

"Listen, Nikiforov. I can't deny that that pig is good—and if you tell anyone I admitted that I'll make sure no one finds your fucking corpse—but you're a 5-time-figure skating champion. You can't afford to lose your shit over this." Yurio said, gentle in his own, colorful way.

"I'm fine, _kotenok_. Worry about your own routine, your next Grand Prix is a few months away." Viktor sighed, waving him away. He didn't want to involve Yurio with whatever mess he was in.

Yurio gave him a hard stare, then skated away.

\---

"You need to get off the ice, Vitya."

Viktor's jaw dropped and he stared at his coach, who looked unmoved.

"What? But Yakov—"

"Don't argue with me on this. Whatever fixation you have, it's getting unhealthy." Yakov said, sitting back on his recliner, arms crossed.

"The Olympics is in _two_ weeks, Yakov, I can't stop now—"

"Vitya."

"Yakov, you can't do this—"

"Take a rest."

"But I can do it! This is the second time you've given me a day off, this isn't like you. Aren't you glad I'm training more?" Viktor protested, ruffling his hair in frustration.

Yakov's gaze hardened. "What you're doing isn't training, it's destroying your body. Have you looked at yourself lately?" he said, his voice tinged with anger.

Viktor stayed quiet, crossing his arms. He knew he looked like a petulant child getting scolded but he didn't care. He also hated that he knew that Yakov was right. After practice, his body felt beaten and bruised and Viktor had pretty much collapsed on his mattress, barely able to keep his eyes open. But he couldn't stop now, Yakov didn't understand his need to train. Viktor was rusty, has turned soft. He needed to change that.

"You're going home for the day, Vitya."

Viktor couldn't stop himself from standing up, slamming a hand on Yakov's desk.

"No, I'm not. I'm sorry, Yakov."

Viktor started walking away, ignoring the guilt that has already started to gnaw at his being. He had snapped at Yakov, who had never wanted anything but what's best for his students, who looked out for Viktor in his own brusque way.

But Viktor continued walking, slamming the door shut, channeling every bit of anger and frustration into his skating as glided on the ice.

\----

The moment he woke up in the bland hotel room in Tokyo, Viktor knew it was going to be a horrible day. He could barely lift himself off his bed, his arms feeling like they were made of nothing but jelly.

 _Fuck_. His phone alarm went off in his hand, the text glowing brightly on the screen mocking him.

**Winter Olympics today! ^u^**

Viktor couldn't help but groan. It took every bit of strength in his body to get himself to sit on the edge of the bed, every movement like fire coarsing through his muscles, stiff and disjointed.

Viktor muttered a string of curses as he realized that standing up felt even worse. He was uncoordinated and jerky in his movements, ending up hitting his hip on the corner of his nightstand, howling in pain.

He flopped back down on the bed, drenched in sweat as the realization of the horror of his current situation crept in, making his stomach drop.

How was he going to skate like this?

Viktor would have kicked himself if he could even stretch his legs, though he realized that probably would have made the situation worse.

He should have listened to Yakov. Or to his own body, even, that told him he shouldn't have pushed it. His body wasn't as young as it used to be.

Viktor reached for his phone, about to dial Yakov or Yurio's number to complain, when he realized that either of them finding out would mean disqualification. There was no chance that Yakov would let him skate in this condition—and Viktor wasn't going to drop out of the damn Olympics over something stupid as this. He left his arm fall and shouted from the sting, and felt the tears welling in his eyes.

No. _No_. He won't cry. He will _not_ cry. He still has a competition to go to. Viktor willed the tears not to fall and sighed. He decided to lay on his bed for a little while longer to relax his body as much as he could.

This was just a road bump. It wasn't the first time his body ached during a competition—albeit not like this—but he was able to pull through with a gold medal.

At the thought, Viktor tried to drift back to sleep.

\----

Viktor walked into the stadium and was immediately greeted by flashing cameras, screaming fans and desperate reporters. This was not good. He didn't want the world to know that he was near incapacitated right before representing his country for the Olympics. Viktor brushed them off, repeating the words _no comment_ so many times that they were starting to lose its meaning, trying to walk as smoothly as possible, despite his sore muscles almost bucking in protest.

Yakov shot him a suspicious glance, but Viktor simply gave him a shrug (an extremely painful one) and waded through the crowd of reporters. His patience was already wearing thin, even after taking the aspirin and pain reliever to alleviate some of the soreness he felt, and he moved almost ten times as smoothly as he had that morning.

Finally, they made it to the back room, where Viktor's already spiraling emotional state took a turn for the worse.

Yuuri was standing by the wall again, stretching his arms upward as Celestino was giving him a pep talk. And he looked so damn gorgeous in his track suit, so distracting that Viktor almost walked into a table if Yakov hadn't stopped him.

"Vitya."

There was that tone again. The tone that told Viktor Yakov could see right through his bullshit. Viktor braced himself as he turned to face Yakov, who, unsurprisingly, had a glint of irritation in his eye.

"Don't do any jumps in the practice," Yakov said gruffly, and Viktor slumped, wanting to fight him on it but knew that he had to save whatever energy he had left for the actual skate.

"Oh, and another thing," Yakov added. "Stop staring at that Japanese boy and do your stretches."

Viktor's jaw dropped as Yakov gave him a look of what seemed to be the closest thing to amusement that he could muster.

Viktor felt his cheeks heating up. Was he really that obvious? His head swung to look at Yuuri, who was, thankfully, too preoccupied with his warm-ups to notice anything unusual.

Viktor found himself a quiet, secluded corner to do his stretches in and put his earbuds in, willing himself to focus on nothing but his skate.

A failed endeavor, because Viktor always found his eyes wandering to the Japanese skater from across the room, who was now sitting on the floor, listening to his music, relaxed. Just like the last time Viktor had spoken with him.

Viktor almost walked into a glass window.

\---

At this point, Viktor just wanted to get the skate over with. He was emotionally, mentally and physically stressed and just wanted to plop back onto his bed in St. Petersburg and sleep for the next 48 hours. Putting on his costume was an absolute nightmare, and Viktor regretted every little accessory he pleaded Yakov to add to it now that every movement of his made pain flare up. He examined himself in the mirror after they finished putting on the costume from hell, and Viktor at least took satisfaction in the fact that he looked princely in the purple suit jacket. The gold string adornments on his chest and his shoulders were eye-catching and Viktor grinned, trying not to think about how much worse it would be when he had to take the outfit off.

He bent down jerkily and laced his skates on, trying to clear his mind and focus on his skate solely.

It didn't work, because not even a minute later, Viktor heard giggling from behind and a warm hand tapped on his shoulder. He turned and was greeted by a familiar pair of warm brown eyes.

Yuuri was smiling shyly at Viktor, his face tinged pink. He spotted the same Thai skater from the China Cup behind Yuuri giggling at whatever he found funny. Phichit, Viktor recalled.

"I...er—" Yuuri fumbled, withdrawing his hand from Viktor's shoulder. Viktor felt his chest flutter. Yuuri was too cute for his own good.

"I just wanted to wish you good luck." Yuuri finished, his face now fully tomato-red.

A shot of warmth filled Viktor's chest at the words. Yuuri wanted him to do well—and maybe it was a formality—but Viktor was just happy that Yuuri even thought to talk to him after their disastrous last encounter.

"You too, Yuuri."

A grunt made the both of them look up and saw Yakov standing rinkside, his arms crossed impatiently.

Viktor stood up, gave Yuuri a wink and walked to the entrance. Right before he skated onto the ice, he heard the Thai skater's voice drifting away.

"See, that wasn't so bad, Yuuri, there wasn't anything to be nervous about!"

\---

Why would Yuuri be nervous to talk to him? Weren't they friends already, at least? Surely Yuuri considered him as a friend, or he wouldn't have—

The program music starts and all thoughts from Viktor's mind were wiped from Viktor's mind. He closed his eyes and let him be swept away in the tune.

The soft sound of a violin filled the stadium, hushing the audience as Viktor started to glide.

He forced himself to move gracefully, to focus on the music, ignoring the pain in his joints.

 _Stammi Vicino._ Stay close to me, Viktor thought.

He lost himself in the music, dancing with an invisible partner, twirling and spinning, arms protesting in pain, but he focused on keeping them fluid, natural.

The first jump. Triple axel.

Perfect.

He caressed his face, opening his eyes to the bright stadium lights. He channeled every bit of longing, of loneliness he had felt into his steps, reaching out to the audience helplessly.

Quad flip. Nailed it.

Viktor could feel the dull ache of his muscles returning. The medicine must be wearing off. Viktor clenched his jaw and willed himself to imagine the story in his head.

A chance encounter of soulmates, and the craving for them to be together. Viktor imagined a faceless man clutching him in his arms, guiding him in a short and sweet ballad, pressing him against his chest, wanting Viktor to move in closer and listen to his heartbeat, the beat only for him.

Quad toe loop triple axel combination. The landing was a bit wobbly, sending a lump of panic into Viktor's throat, but he forced to swallow it down. He pictured his faceless dance partner again, sweeping him away.

The faceless man was replaced in Viktor's mind by someone's face that made Viktor's heart race. Dark brown eyes and raven black hair, a permanent blush painted across his features... Yuuri.

Viktor didn't fight the image. If anything, it helped him sink deeper into the story. He imagined Yuuri pulling him close, their warm breaths mingling together, as Viktor closed the distance between them—

Combination spin. The part of the story where his partner was ripped away from him suddenly, leaving him in despair.

Viktor gasped, his eyes ripping open as he spun—and saw the face he had only just imagined, his warm eyes glittering in awe as... he watched Viktor.

Viktor put that look on Yuuri's face.

His body ached—physically and emotionally, to touch Yuuri. Viktor reached out to him, hoping, praying, that he understands what he meant, that it was him Viktor wanted so so badly. The step sequence of him chasing his soulmate, again and again, until finally, _finally_ , they're reunited.

Viktor did his last jump—a quad salchow—perfectly, and he reveled in the tiny gasp he saw Yuuri do, his lips parted ever so slightly.

The music came to a close, Viktor finishing with an arm hugging his torso, head thrown back, hand in his hair.

Viktor didn't quite register the deafening cheers of the crowd as he took a bow, heart pounding in his ears, the reality of what he did crashing down around him that made him feel like he was doused by a bucket of ice water.

What the _fuck_ was he thinking?

Why would he think of—

He didn't want to—

What the hell _was_ that?

Yakov clapped his back and practically shoved him into the Kiss and Cry booth, and Viktor, still in a daze, wondered vaguely how he got there when he didn't even remember skating off the ice—but any other thought flew straight out of Viktor's mind as the screen flashed his score.

112.27.

Viktor's stomach dropped.

"Not bad," he heard Yakov murmur beside him, but the voice felt distant, muffled, like Viktor was listening in from underwater.

The words pierced his heart like a knife. _Not bad?_ Not bad wasn't _perfect_. Not bad didn't guarantee him a gold medal. Not bad _wasn't enough._

Viktor stood up abruptly, the adrenaline finally fading, leaving Viktor hollow and muscles aching. He needed to get out of there.

His eyes travelled to the rink side and landed on the one person he resented—and wanted, his traitorous heart countered—to see.

Yuuri was wearing a suit that was a night sky. His chest was painted with glittering whites against an ink black fabric, hugging his upper body in just the right way. His hair was slicked back and he wasn't wearing any make-up, just some light blush and black eyeliner that made his brown eyes pop. He had a nervous little smile playing on his lips as he listened intently to Celestino giving last minute advice.

Yuuri was beautiful. So beautiful that staring at him made his heart hurt. It was almost too much for Viktor to handle.

Yuuri turned, as if sensing Viktor's gaze heavy on him, and met Viktor's eyes. Immediately, his face lit up and waved at him. Viktor clenched his teeth, bitterness rising in his chest. He only gave him a hard stare in return, and felt the guilt gnawing at him when Yuuri's face fell, morphing into hurt confusion, his hand falling limply to his side. Viktor swallowed down the guilt and turned his back, walking away.

\---

Viktor never really considered himself a weak man. But he had been wrong before.

A testament of that is him standing rinkside watching Yuuri's program even though he promised himself he wouldn't.

But Yuuri was Yuuri, and Viktor was only human.

Viktor had known it before, but Yuuri Katsuki was enchanting on the ice. His music was worlds away from his short program music that Viktor heard only a few months'—the soft melody of a piano echoed through the stadium as Yuuri danced on the ice, the most graceful person Viktor had ever laid eyes on.

He spun, his arms and legs in perfect harmony as he launched into a triple lutz. Perfect landing.

Every move looked natural, every touch, step, spin, jump was executed with the perfect mix of calm calculation and bursts of passion.

The step sequence was by far the best Yuuri had done, as the piano's tempo got faster and faster, Yuuri made music with his body. That was the only way Viktor could describe him. Viktor could see the notes practically pouring out of Yuuri's body, out of every crevice and curve, making it impossible to look away.

Yuuri launched into his last jump: A quad toe loop.

He nailed it.

Yuuri extended an arm to him, right hand over his heart, and posed as the music stopped.

Viktor could only stare as Yuuri slowly put his arm down and took a bow, as he made his way to Celestino at the Kiss and Cry, as everyone in the stadium waited in bated breath for Yuuri's score.

Viktor felt the dread slowly overtaking the awe he had been feeling as the announcers proclaimed Yuuri's score.

114.02.

Viktor could only feel his head swimming as screams erupted in the stadium, the room's shock, delight and excitement palpable.

Yuuri Katsuki had beaten Viktor Nikiforov for the very first time.

Yuuri won.

Viktor lost.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi there! Well, there you have it! I can't wait to write the next chapter, things are gonna get pretty spicy seeing as we have an Angry, Emotionally Constipated Viktor and still a pretty oblivious Yuuri. 
> 
> This is the longest chapter I've written so far, and wow, it was a wild ride. I wasn't really sure how to go about this chapter in the first place, but I'm just glad it turned out pretty okay (hopefully)!
> 
> I'm hoping to update the next chapter in the next 2-3 days if school lets me breathe, but you'll get it as soon as I finish it!
> 
> Hope you enjoyed this, leave your thoughts in the comments if you want, constructive criticism is always more than welcome!
> 
> Stay happy and healthy, folks!  
> -R


	6. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alternatively Titled: The First Time Viktor Nikiforov Realizes He Is In Deep Shit With Yuuri Katsuki

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I literally cannot contain my excitement to share this chapter, this took DAYS to finish and I'm really proud of it.

Yakov had to practically drag Viktor by the collar to the medals ceremony—Viktor had locked himself in a secluded room and sat there for a good 30 minutes trying to let what had just happened sink in. He argued back and forth with Yakov through the locked door that he only wanted to rest, he didn't feel the need to go to the ceremony and press-con, and he was definitely _not_ going to the afterparty. Yakov shot back that Viktor should not be selfish—he wasn't just Viktor Nikiforov, he was Russia's representative. It was in poor taste—the press would go wild over Viktor's absence. It would paint him as a sore loser and a competitor with a lack of sportsmanship (though Viktor couldn't argue that either of those things are wrong).

Viktor could have laughed if he hadn't already been numbed by disappointment. Of all the competitions he could have lost, it was the one event where he was carrying his entire country's flag. It was like the universe had perfectly aligned to torture Viktor.

Truthfully, Viktor knew that this was entirely his fault, but didn't really take any sting of the reality away. If he had only rested, if he hadn't pushed his body over its limit, if he had never met Yuuri—Viktor shook his head and cursed himself. Why must every train of thought he had go back to Yuuri? This wasn't about Yuuri, none of this was his fault. Yuuri had skated his best today, and he won. That was how competition works. Still, that did not quell the brewing anger that had Viktor's skin crawling.

He wondered, in his solitude, if he would react the same way had Leroy, or Chulanont, or even Chris had beaten him. Leroy was all bark and no bite—Viktor would definitely be annoyed if he won, but he would consider it a fluke, and get his medal back in no time. Chulanont didn't have much of a connection to Viktor other than Yuuri, and though he was a formidable skater, no personal feelings conflicted with their professional careers. And Chris, well. Viktor knew Chris since the start of his career. He'd been like a brother to Viktor when he had no one else, and Chris knew the person that Viktor truly was. Chris would be well-aware of Viktor's feelings had he beaten him, no doubt, but Viktor would just have to deal with it and do better.

Then why did he feel this way when it was Yuuri? It was intense. The anger, envy, resentment, and hopeless attraction he had were warring within himself, leaving him all the more confused. He felt betrayed, like Yuuri had one-upped him in a game of chess he didn't even know they were playing.

He shouldn't have let his guard down around Yuuri. He shouldn't have over-exerted himself, shouldn't have paid attention to Yuuri—

The _what ifs_ and _shouldn't haves_ were too much. Viktor willed himself to clear his head and buried his face into his fists, sighing at the wreck he'd become.

A soft knock from the other side of the door came a minute—or maybe an eternity, Viktor couldn't tell—and then a gruff voice.

"Get up and out, Vitya. The ceremony's in five minutes."

\----

Viktor's jaw hurt from the fake smile he flashed. His entire body felt stiff as he posed for the cameras, holding up a silver medal, glinting from the flashes.

He could feel the murmurs among the crowd as Yuuri climbed to the top step to receive his gold Olympic medal, and Viktor's heart ached as he saw the brilliant, proud smile on Yuuri's face as the judge looped it around his neck. Ached with resentment, and of pure, unhindered care. Then Yuuri held up his medal for the cameras, and flashed his most charming smile.

Viktor had never felt smaller than when he was staring at Yuuri standing above him, gold medal in hand, the flag of Japan raised high behind him.

Then Yuuri met his eye and the smile faltered, replaced with another look of confusion. For the three seconds they stared, the tension that filled the atmosphere could be cut by a knife. Eventually, Viktor tore his gaze away, looking back forward to the strangers who watched his every move for a living, giving them a plastic grin.

The official photographer gestured for them to step down and take a picture together.

Viktor really didn't want to do that.

Not when it meant that would had to stand next to Yuuri, pretending that everything was okay.

Still, they obliged, stepping down from the podium. The photographer to get closer to each other, hoping for a casual picture for the three winners. Phichit immediately put an arm around Yuuri's neck, bronze medal displayed proudly on his chest, pulling him closer and both of them burst into a fit of giggles that had both of them gasping for air.

The photographer gestured for Viktor to move in closer, but Viktor was rooted to the spot, watching Yuuri and Phichit as irritation flared up in his chest. He pushed it down as the photographer continued to urge him to get closer to the two, and Viktor reluctantly followed.

Impulsively, he decided to put a hand on the small of Yuuri's back, ignoring the surprised look the two had given him. Electricity shot up Viktor's arm as he felt Yuuri's warmth underneath his suit, making his stomach erupt with butterflies.

It felt a little easier to give a smile and throw up a peace sign when he did. Just a little.

Phichit gestured for the other skaters to join, and soon Chris, Leroy, Altin, Guang-Hong and Iglesia joined the group photo, Chris giving Viktor a knowing look as Viktor's hand never left Yuuri's back.

\---

The press conference was even worse.

The journalists were merciless, bombarding all of them with question after question. Yuuri sat in the middle with his coach standing behind him, and Viktor right beside him. There was still an unspoken tension between the two of them, but Viktor did his best to be unbothered by it.

(His best was not enough, as he ended up being _very_ bothered by it.)

Viktor could tell that Yuuri was out of his depth, fidgeting with his hands under the table, or adjusting his glasses when they were sitting fine on his face, stuttering and blushing or downright paling at some of the questions, some about his history, some about family, with Celestino butting in a handful of times to save him; and Viktor felt a twisted satisfaction bloom from the ache of disappointment from the knowledge that he knew this territory better than Yuuri did. Still, it was hard to watch.

"One at a time, one at a time. You," the emcee pointed, a man in a white polo with a mic in hand.

"Mr. Katsuki, what does it feel to have finally beaten Viktor Nikiforov?"

"I—uh—" Yuuri stuttered. Viktor flinched at the question that hit a little too close to home.

"That wasn't really my goal... I just wanted to make my country and family proud..." Yuuri replied, his voice unsure.

The emcee pointed to another reporter, this time a woman.

"How have you been dealing with the backlash from Mr. Nikiforov's fans?"

Yuuri paled, shell-shocked. "There's backlash?"

The woman nodded, impatient. "Surely you're aware of the passionate online figure skating community rooting for Mr. Nikiforov? There's even speculation of a rivalry brewing between the two of you."

"I—We don't have a rivalry—Viktor and—I mean Mr. Nikiforov and I don't—"

Viktor cleared his throat, catching the attention of the woman.

"Mr. Nikiforov, do you have any say in the speculated rivalry?"

Viktor gave her a wry smile and leaned into the mic.

"Yuuri and I have no qualms with each other—any rumors of a rivalry brewing is false."

"But Mr. Katsuki did just end your 3 season gold winning streak, what are you feelings on that?"

 _Pissed_ , Viktor wanted to answ _er. I hate it, absolutely despise it,_ he wanted to scream _._ But he bit his tongue.

Viktor clenched his jaw and shrugged.

"I don't mind, it'll be a fun challenge. He'll need to step up his game, if he wants to beat me again," his reply came, uncharacteristically harsh.

Yuuri stiffened beside him and Viktor resisted the urge to look, giving the woman a lazy smile.

She sat down and scribbled on her notebook. The emcee pointed to another reporter. Viktor frowned.

"Mr. Katsuki, I'm a reporter from M&H magazine, and I'm sure your many fans would like to know your relationship status?"

Viktor perked up at the question and noticed that at some point, Phichit had put a hand on Yuuri's shoulder, the Thai skater squeezing it when Yuuri got a particularly invasive question. Viktor ignored the pang of jealousy that rose at the sight.

Before Yuuri could answer, Celestino cleared his throat.

"I don't see how any of that is relevant to Yuuri's skating."

Yuuri interjected, however. "Ciao Ciao, it's f-fine, it's harmless. I mean...no—I guess?"

"How many lovers have you had in the past?"

"U-uhm, I don't—"

"So you're inexperienced then."

Yuuri blushed even harder as Celestino answered stiffly, "That's inappropriate. Yuuri has no comment."

The reporter had the gall to smile before sitting down and the onslaught of questions continued.

Viktor wasn't at all surprised. Everyone was curious to know about the Japanese ace who had beat the living legend at such a tender age, and Yuuri had no way to weasel out with vague answers this time around, the reporters were out for his blood.

It was interesting, Viktor thought, how Yuuri shyed away from any sort of public attention but chose to pursue a sport where every move he had was scrutinized, judged, and given a corresponding set of points. Viktor had long accepted the fact that people would be watching him, pinpointing every flaw, every flubbed jump, rubbing it in his face. But Viktor had grown up in this attention, the spotlight of never-ending criticism—and he worried how Yuuri would fare.

"Are you and Mr. Chulanont dating?"

Phichit burst out laughing at the question, and even Yuuri had an amused smile on his lips.

"Oh God, what a question!"

"You don't have to sound so disgusted, Phichit." Yuuri snorted. Phichit squeezed his shoulder again and turned to the cameras.

"Man, don't take this the wrong way, Yuuri's great—but we're just best friends. We live with each other, have the same room when we train in Detroit, and trust me, you do not want to know this guy's living—"

Yuuri blushed, smacking Phichit lightly. "If you continue that sentence—"

"I'm kidding! We're not. Or _are we_?"

That wasn't an answer.

Viktor found the hand on Yuuri's shoulder even more irritating than he did after that.

\---

"Is there any truth in the rumors that you will be retiring after this season, Mr. Nikiforov?"

Viktor laughed, a hollow sound.

"Where ever did you get that information?"

The reporters muttered among themselves, anticipating Viktor's answer.

Viktor didn't like thinking about retirement.

He knew he was getting old. He was at the standard age where figure skaters usually retired, and most people would agree that Viktor had won his due and more. But his body would eventually give out, the physical ache in it now proved it.

But even the thought of leaving the ice terrified Viktor. He had given up _everything_ to skate. He lived it, breathed it, figure skating was the blood that flowed in his veins.

He chose figure skating over his unsupportive family in a heartbeat, did not even have a second thought when Yakov came along and offered to coach him across the country—he packed his bags, left and never looked back. He sacrificed his studies to spend more time training his developing body, because he didn't really see the point of learning about Shakespeare's classics or the quadratic formula when he could be pushing himself to be in his best form. And his social life was out of the question; after he dropped out of school, the ice rink was his second home. Yakov's other students were often far too intimidated to attempt to form any sort of connection to him. Georgi, Mila and Yurio were the first ones who broke him out of his shell.

It had been lonely, paralyzing at times, but the ice and the medals gave him something to cling to; something to show all his sacrifices for. Money was not the problem, Viktor had plenty of it to keep him stable for his entire life. It was the lack of purpose he was terrified of—he had neglected everything and everyone in his life for the ice... but what happens after? What happens when Viktor doesn't even have the ice left? He'd go home to a cold, empty house, with only Makkachin to keep him company.

He still had a season or two in him. But he'd have to consider it.

Viktor shrugged and gave the run-of-the-mill, "I'll talk to my coach about it before announcing my next move."

He could feel a heavy gaze from right beside him and felt himself stiffen. Yuuri was watching him, trying to read him again and Viktor didn't want him to. So he met his stare with his own, hard one, and Yuuri blushed and looked away.

Too little too late did Viktor realize his mistake, that he had just an intense stare-down with his most known competitor in front of a pack of bloodhounds sniffing the air for any hint of a controversy. He could see the headlines for the tabloids now, Russia's Figure Skating Legend and Japan's Ace in a Cutthroat Rivalry. Absolute bullshit, Viktor thought, but it was bullshit that would sell.

Viktor cleared his throat.

"No need to worry, though, you'll still see me skate at the Grand Prix in two months' time."

"Will you be getting the gold medal?" A reporter shouted and Viktor smiled.

"We'll see."

\---

As if Viktor's day couldn't get any worse, the suit jacket he ordered for the afterparty was a size too small. It was a tiny detail, but after everything that happened today, it was just the cherry on top. He took it as a sign to ditch it altogether, but Yakov wasn't having any of it and told him to go without the jacket.

Sighing, Viktor consoled himself with the thought of drinking his problems away.

But Yuuri would be there.

Yes, Viktor was sure he was going to get shit-faced tonight, press be damned.

The afterparty's atmosphere was different from the two previous banquets with Yuuri. The first, Viktor recalled, was boring. It had been the same old routine, same old sponsors, same old reporters trying to dig up the same old dirt. Viktor couldn't remember half of it until he talked to Yuuri. The second, well, Viktor still had dreams about that night. Dreams that would make him sit up abruptly, sweaty, flushed—

_Stop it, Viktor._

He pushed open the door and was greeted by the high ceilings, blinding chandeliers, rows and rows of tables brimming with all sorts of delicacies. The scent of champagne and sweets invaded Viktor's nose, making him acutely aware of just how hungry he was.

"Viktor, you're finally here!"

He turned and smiled at the familiar voice and was met with Chris' warm expression approaching him.

"The silver-haired silver medalist!" Another voice proclaimed, and the smile slipped right off Viktor's face.

Chris' face fell, and the warm expression was replaced with exasperation.

 _Of course it was Leroy_. Who else could be that tactless?

Viktor pressed his fingers on the bridge of his nose as JJ bounded toward him, putting an arm around his neck.

"Ah, hello, JJ." Chris said, his voice flat.

"Gettin' a little rusty, aren't we, Nikiforov?" JJ prodded, giving him a hearty laugh.

Viktor noticed the eyes now on them, watching how he would react. He looked desperately for a pair of brown eyes, but he couldn't find them. Viktor wanted nothing more than to tackle Leroy and stuff an apple in his mouth like a roasted pig to shut him up, but that would just be bad manners, even though he would be doing everyone in the banquet a favor.

"Quite bold of you to say that, JJ, considering that Yuuri, Viktor and Phichit put your score to shame," Chris muttered to himself, irritated.

"But that was Katsuki, of course! He's different," JJ replied, with that irritating grin still on his face.

Viktor gave JJ a forced smile and removed his arm. He was about to say something he would probably regret when Chris intervened, grabbing his arm.

"Oh, would you look at that, Yakov's calling you, Viktor!"

Chris hauled him out of there faster than he could comprehend, headed straight for the buffet table. Viktor gave him a sharp look.

"You look like a mess." Chris told him, not looking at him as he popped a chip in his mouth.

"I don't know what you mean."

"You think the press hasn't caught wind of your hostility to Yuuri, Viktor?"

Viktor stayed quiet, grabbing a glass of champagne from the passing waiter and drinking it in one gulp.

"What's changed your tune with him? Just a few months ago you wouldn't stop your barraging of messages to me about him," Chris asked, crossing his arms, giving him a piercing look.

Still, Viktor didn't answer, now paying attention to the intricate details of the nearest chandelier. He heard Chris sigh.

"You know, being hostile to him just because he bested you is petty, even for you."

That made Viktor's head snap to attention.

"That's not the reason why," he hissed, and Chris raised an eyebrow and smirked.

"So you _admit_ you're acting hostile."

 _Damn it._ Viktor grumbled under his breath and took another swig of champagne. Chris offered him a plate of apple slices, and Viktor took one reluctantly, nibbling on the side.

"I just don't get it, Viktor. What is the big deal?"

"You wouldn't get it." Viktor wasn't going to have this conversation now, not when his irritation was coming to a slow boil.

"No, but what I do get is that Yuuri has been trying to catch your eye since you got here." Chris muttered and Viktor tensed.

"Has he?"

Why was his voice unsteady? Why would he care? What did it matter? He won gold, didn't he? That's all that's supposed to matter to Yuuri. All that's supposed to matter to Viktor.

Chris nodded to certain direction, and sure enough, Yuuri was standing there with a calm smile, glass in his hand, Phichit draped onto him, giggling. Celestino was right behind them, smiling proudly at his two students. Viktor's hand around his glass clenched.

God, he looked good tonight. The sleek black suit was obviously made to fit, it accentuated Yuuri's curves and hugged his body just the right way. He had a sleek red tie, (not the ugly one from the last banquet, thank God), his hair was slicked back like it was during performances, with a few stray strands falling, brushing against his forehead. He wasn't wearing glasses, and it just made his brown eyes pop.

His smile was absolutely radiant. It hurt to look at.

The way Yuuri turned to look at Viktor as if sensing his gaze heavy on him gave Viktor a sense of deja vu of their second encounter. The thought only made his heart race faster.

He watched, paralyzed, as Yuuri turned to whisper to Phichit, leaning closer and closer. He couldn't tear his eyes away as Phichit's eyes sparkled as he turned to Yuuri and answered with the biggest grin on his face. He kept his eyes on them as he watched Phichit whisper something, making Yuuri blush, and then smacking him lightly on the arm before heading to his direction.

(Viktor should be the one doing that. It should be Viktor.)

(He's a massive idiot for thinking that.)

Yuuri walked up to him and looked him straight in the eye. Viktor felt like his heart was about to burst. Those eyes were searching him, guarded, cautious.

Chris broke the staredown with a chuckle.

"Congratulations, Yuuri! A well-earned victory." Chris said, patting Yuuri on the shoulder, and Yuuri turned to him with a small smile on his lips.

"Thank you! And congrats to you, too," Yuuri replied.

Viktor gave him a forced smile and nodded, staying silent.

Every bone in his body was screaming at him to get close to Yuuri, to touch him, to tell him that he was proud of Yuuri for coming so far.

But he didn't. Viktor had a will of steel.

"Oh, Coach is calling me. I'll catch you later," Chris announced, grinning at Yuuri and shooting Viktor a _get-your-shit-together_ look. He knew that look well. He strode off, leaving the two men in a tense silence.

Viktor had a will of steel. He would not engage Yuuri with his emotional state in shambles like this. He was a competitor and nothing more.

"Viktor..." Yuuri muttered unsurely, gazing up at him.

That will of steel crumbled like a house of cards when Yuuri's eyes met his, and Viktor straightened, sighing as Yuuri let out a breath of relief.

"Can we talk? I just have... a question."

Viktor nodded, clenching his jaw. "Lead the way."

\---

The hallway Yuuri chose was dark and secluded, far from the racket at the afterparty. Viktor leaned against the cold wall and waited for Yuuri to speak, trying to clamp down the nervousness that had been building in his chest.

"Viktor... are you mad at me?"

_There it is._

Viktor stared at Yuuri, who was now looking down at the floor, fidgeting at the cuffs of his suit, and considered his answer.

Was he mad?

 _Yes_ , _he was._ He was angry at being second-best, at being taken down and pushed off the peak. The defeat _hurt_ him. It bruised his ego and made him question his own skill.

But at Yuuri?

No. Did he feel resentment toward him? Definitely. But that was not his fault. That was for Viktor to deal with. He didn't blame Yuuri for anything, all the fault of him losing today was his fault.

So why does it hurt so much?

"I'm not."

Yuuri looked up, confused, hurt and something else that Viktor couldn't put his finger on.

"Then why?"

_Why?_

That question stumped Viktor. Because he didn't know why. Why was he bitter? Why was he acting hostile? Why was he so helplessly attracted to the person in front of him?

"Why what?" he asked, hoping Yuuri doesn't notice the strain in his voice to keep it steady.

"You were... mad."

"I'm no—"

"Did I do anything wrong? Did I—Did I say something that offend you? Wha—" Yuuri asked, choking. Viktor could see tears sparkling in his eyes, ready to fall, and he felt his heart break.

"Yuuri, no, God, no—" he said, trying to appease the situation.

"Then what's wrong? I-I... I thought we w-were friends," Yuuri asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

Viktor didn't know what to do with people crying in front of him. He didn't even know _why_ Yuuri was crying. But seeing Yuuri so confused, even heartbroken, hurt Viktor more than he thought he would. But he was at a loss.

"I... I don't know what to do when people cry in front of me, Yuuri, I—" The great Viktor Nikiforov was stuttering. He was _stuttering_. "What can I do? Do I just kiss you?"

That was the wrong thing to say.

"What the hell? Do you think that'll fix anything? I just want to know why you're treating me like I'm something rotten you stepped on all day?" Yuuri said loudly, his voice now trembling with spiraling emotion.

Viktor clenched his jaw and took a step toward him, but Yuuri flinched and moved away.

It cut deep.

"Yuuri, it's nothing you did—"

"Then what is it?"

"It's... it's just me, okay? I'm just not in the right headspace."

"You were laughing and smiling when you were with Chris, but the moment you see my face, you start looking upset. I-I... I don't know what I did wrong, okay. It would be just better if you told me." Yuuri muttered, hugging his own torso. Viktor felt at least a sliver of relief when he noticed that Yuuri's eyes were now dry.

"It really is just me, Yuuri." Viktor sighed.

"Is it because... is it because I placed first?"

The breath was knocked right out of him. Viktor opened his mouth to protest, but no words came out. Yuuri looked him in the eye and sighed. He seemed to take Viktor's shock as an answer.

(Yuuri wasn't wrong.)

"I... I didn't think it meant that much to you. Wait, no, of course, it did, that was a stupid thing to say. I meant, I thought it wasn't a big deal—wait, no, that isn't it either," Yuuri started rambling, now avoiding eye contact with Viktor, fidgeting with his hands. Viktor was shocked by the sudden change of tone.

"I mean, this is your entire career you're talking about, _of course_ you'd be a bit mad, who am I, a nobody from Japan, to—"

"Yuuri." Viktor interjected, furrowing his brow. Why was Yuuri explaining like it was _his_ fault?

"And I'm sorry if I hurt you because of that. You're just... you're my biggest inspiration, you know? You're the reason I started skating... and I just. I don't know. I was just really happy that I got the chance to talk to you and skate on the same ice with you and I was scared that I blew it without even knowing..." Yuuri trailed off.

Viktor stared at him, stunned. He could barely comprehend what Yuuri told him—Yuuri, who had looked at him like a god to be worshipped, like an example to be emulated, when, in fact, Viktor was only half the man Yuuri is.

"And... why is that?" Viktor managed to choke out.

"Because you're you, Viktor. I thought that... you were untouchable. But when we talked to each other, when you joked around with me and teased me, it just dawned on me that you're nothing like I imagined—" Yuuri must've seen the look on Viktor's face because he frantically backtracked, "Not in a bad way! I mean like... you're kind, and funny, and a tiny bit petty." Viktor grinned at that.

"Do you want me to be that untouchable idol you had in mind?"

"No! I just... want you to be you. Just Viktor. And I was just... worried that I might have not only gotten my childhood idol to hate me, but a good person mad at me, too."

Viktor wanted to laugh and cry at the same time. Here he was, wallowing in self-pity about his loss, unintentionally hurting a wonderful person who deserved none of it. No one had ever asked for him to be just him. It was always Viktor Nikiforov, Russia's Living Legend. Viktor Nikiforov, the charming ice prince. Viktor Nikiforov, the world's top figure skater.

Never just Viktor.

Just Viktor who slept in late on his day offs, who burned any food he tried to cook, who was sloppy and left all his dirty laundry laying around and refused to do the dishes even if it meant having to eat off paper plates meant for guests.

Except here was Yuuri Katsuki, his number one competitor, giving him that soft, understanding smile that made the side of his eyes crinkle, telling Viktor to be just himself.

It was _too much_ at once.

Too much, but hardly enough.

The silence between them wasn't tense anymore. It was comforting. There was no need for a reply as Viktor and Yuuri watched each other quietly, taking in each other's features.

\---

"Yuuri!"

Viktor and Yuuri's gaze snapped to a figure approaching them, hands waving enthusiastically.

"Yuuri, Ciao Ciao's been looking for you every..." Phichit Chulanont's voice slowly faded away as it dawned on him that he was intruding on a rather... intimate moment.

Yuuri was blushing like there was no tomorrow, and Viktor couldn't help his smile.

"Errr... I'll be back later." Phichit said awkwardly, his grin sheepish, and gave them both fingerguns before turning on his heels and walking away briskly.

"PHICHIT, WAIT—" Yuuri said, his eyes widening in embarrassment.

"Remember to be safe, Yuuri!" Phichit called out, winking at his friend, which made Yuuri sputter out garbled curses.

Viktor giggled as Yuuri buried his face into his hands, his face red.

"Oh my God. I'm actually going to kill him, he will never see the light of day again, I swear—"

"Killing your fellow skater is considered as unsportsmanlike, or at least, so I've heard." Viktor replied, grinning at Yuuri's adorable expression.

"Of course, you would know. You probably have goons waiting outside to jump me and drown me in a river." Yuuri retorted playfully, raising an eyebrow.

"Was I that obvious? Well, shucks, I need them to reschedule, you saw right through me."

Both of them burst out laughing at the silly reply, gasping for air between giggles.

The laughs slowly faded into silence and they were left staring at each other yet again.

"I... probably have to go back." Yuuri muttered uncertainly.

Viktor nodded feebly, suppressing a sigh. He didn't want Yuuri to go.

He didn't want the moment to end, didn't want to go back to where they were both fighting over a medal, over a title. He didn't want Yuuri to be his competitor for a place on a podium.

Yuuri took a few steps away from him then paused, and looked back. Viktor stared at him, memorizing the lines of his face, the curve of his nose, the exact shade of chocolate brown of his eyes.

"Viktor, we're okay now, right?"

Viktor didn't want Yuuri Katsuki, Japan's Figure Skating Protegé.

He gave him a sincere grin.

"Yeah. But don't let your guard down, Katsuki. I'm still taking the gold from you at the Grand Prix."

Viktor Nikiforov didn't want Yuuri Katsuki, rising star and quickly becoming known as the step sequence king.

Yuuri cocked a brow and smirked at him, and Viktor's heart leapt.

"You could try, Nikiforov." Yuuri replied, then turned and started jogging back to the banquet.

Viktor didn't want Yuuri Katsuki, his so-called rival for the throne, who made his stomach still sink and his resentment still rise at the thought of claiming it as his own.

Viktor wants Yuuri, who was so contradictory with his bouts of shyness and confident outbursts, his surprisingly sharp-witted quips, whose eyes Viktor wants to get lost in for days at a time just observing how different lights brought out the golden flecks, whose lips looked so pillowy and soft with his small smile, whose cheeks were painted with a permanent blush that made Viktor's heart do somersaults and just makes it so _difficult_ to breathe—

Viktor wants _just_ Yuuri.

Viktor wants Yuuri.

.  
.  
.  
.

Viktor's eyes widen in realization.

 _Oh shit_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There you have it! I cannot WAIT to write the next few chapters for this, this plot's gonna take a turn.
> 
> On another note:
> 
> So sorry for the delay on the update, my mental health state is in a bit of a decline lately, thanks to all the emotional stress that school and family stuff gives me. Writing this fanfic has been a huge help and seeing all the nice comments you all leave just made me cry tears of happiness. Thank you soooo much.
> 
> I'll update the next chapter within the week, hopefully, I'm determined to see this thing through to the end. 
> 
> Anyways, thank you so much for reading, it means a lot to me, constructive criticism is very much so welcome, and I hope you enjoyed this! Leave your thoughts in the comments if you want uwu
> 
> Stay happy, lots of love,  
> -R
> 
> P.S. Shameless plug, if you wanna follow my hijinks and emotional turmoil, here's my Twitter profile, I tweet about writing and random stuff going on in my life [here](https://twitter.com/_raeofsunlight_?s=09)!


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